Ever Observant
by ladytilney
Summary: The war effected all that were involved, but not more then those directly involved. Hermione finds a broken Draco back for another year at Hogwarts, and she see's something in him that many people chose not too. Draco watches Hermione Granger, seeking a redemption he didn't know he could ever achieve. Sometimes, a second chance is just what a person needs.


Ever Observant - One Shot

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling, only a fan that has an inkling to write yet another redemption story.

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It was the end of October, the air crisp and students buzzing with excitement over the upcoming Halloween festivities. Hermione smiled, not wanting to ruin anyone's enjoyment, but she just wasn't feeling excited, not anymore. It had been a difficult transition, from spending almost a year in hiding, to fighting in a war, to winning and then going back to school? It just didn't feel right, not one bit. She was thankful, if not for the fact of having the opportunity to finish school and be able to further her education, and she wanted to make the best of it all. If only for Harry and Ron.

They had helped in the restoration, any willing and able bodied person helped in making Hogwarts Hogwarts again. The magical damage done had been extreme, and Hogwarts would never feel the same for the returning students, but it was still Hogwarts, it was still her second home.

Harry had immersed himself back into quidditch, as it was one of the things that he most enjoyed about Hogwarts. It was the comradery, the physical exertion, but also it was that when he was playing, his mind was not wandering elsewhere. It was an activity that made him whole again. Ron had reimbursed himself, though still had his moments of relapse.

Hermione had reimbursed herself in school, as she always had done previously when trying to run away from her problems. She studied and read new books, ever diligent in trying to make herself forget things. She just needed to forget things.

They all had nightmares, and it seemed everyone who had experienced the war had them as well. Many would wake up screaming, and it was a common occurrence to go down to potions and brew dreamless sleeping draughts to combat them. They had group discussions, as any school would have after such tragedy, and things slowly and surely turned back to normal. Everything was over and even if the fear was still there, they still had each other and that knowledge was enough to get by on.

"Are you going to Halloween party in Hogsmeade?" Ginny asked as they walked back towards the Gryffindor common room after quidditch practice.

"I don't think so. I don't think I could stand dressing up and listening to loud music. Not anymore, not yet," Hermione replied, smiling sadly as she looked out the window.

"Hmm," Ginny replied, understanding. Hermione put on a facade of being happy and content with life, but she never truly felt those things, and she didn't think Ron or Harry did either. Their transition was a difficult one, and they just decided to go with the flow. No one faulted them for it either. "I've talked Harry into going with me. I think it will be good for us to get a little loose and have some fun again. We are still teenagers, right?"

"Our age would say so."

"If you do change your mind, it'll be all the more fun. I know Ron is taking Padma. I think he wants to redo Yule Ball," Ginny said, chuckling half-heartedly.

Hermione and Ron had decided that they would not pursue a relationship. They didn't blame each other, it had been a mutual decision, one that they both felt needed to be done. They just didn't fit and Ron had said he had much preferred to stay best friends, to which Hermione agreed with. She just didn't want a relationship, not anymore.

"Good, I know he's been meaning to try and ask her for the past two weeks. Ron is Gryffindor Brave, but his confidence around woman leaves one to be desired," Hermione said, chuckling. The incident with Fleur came to mind, and though Fleur had said she hadn't been bother by it, it was still a fun story to tell. Any laughs they could have, were ones to be cherished.

"What are your plans then?"

"I'm thinking since the whole castle will be running rampant, I think I'll go to the library, as per usual." She knew it sounded dull, but she'd had enough excitement to last a lifetime, or at least to last the next year. She wanted quiet and seclusion, and no one would dream of going to library on such a night. It would perfect.

"I should have known," Ginny replied, smiling softly. They parted ways, Ginny going up to the common room and Hermione going towards the head girl's suite, as she was graciously named head girl, not that anyone was surprised. It was expected, and no one disputed that fact at all.

Blaise Zabini was head boy, a fact Hermione had been dubious about as she would have thought that Draco Malfoy would have been, but his activities their sixth year had lowered his chances significantly. And Hermione didn't think that he would want to be head boy, not after all that had happened. She had been surprised when September 1 had rolled around and she had seen him sitting, completely withdraw into him, at the welcoming feast in the Great Hall. Then again, she thought he might have returned for the same reason she did: to just feel normal again.

But as she threw herself into her work, she hadn't noticed much of anything else. Sure, she still went to hang out in the common room and still went to Hogshead with Harry and Ron, but she did so with distance. She had been distant since the end of the war. It was only natural, she had told herself, to feel empty. She had lost her parents, obliviating them so completely that they wouldn't know her at all. She lost her drive after the war ended, having nothing to really fight for until she finished school fully. But most of all, she had lost part of her interest in things, the war doing a number on her sanity. She would never be the same, and she didn't want to be the same, no matter how often she wanted to be as obsessed in doing her best.

She was not the same person, and that was okay.

Draco sat in the library, a book clutched in his hands while he sat cross-legged on the floor. But he wasn't reading it, not anymore. His mind had wondered again, the flashbacks that came and went happening once again. Blaise called these sort of things episodes, as he had had them as well, and Draco thought that it was aptly fitting for what he was feeling.

They came and went and had started way before the Battle of Hogwarts. He'd been in constant fear and anxiety, wanting nothing more than to run away with his family and leave the whole thing behind, but it had never happened. He saw his fathers face, withered by all that had occurred and the constant belittlement by the Dark Lord too him. He'd never wanted to see his father that weak, had never even thought it could have happened. And that in itself was agonizing.

His mother, oh, his mother. He could see that she had wanted to run, and she would have if Draco got hurt. She vowed to him that the second harm came to him, she'd take him and leave the country, with or without his father. The take over of her home, the horrors she had witnessed there, and the fear and mistreatment she had been subjected to was something Draco wished with ever fiber of his being that he could take back.

After things had ended, he had not spoken to his father at all. Instead, he had gone to help the rebuilding of Hogwarts, the start of his repentance beginning with that. He gave money to help and he also manually helped. He had told himself that it was the least he could do. He had gone before the Golden Trio had and had left the day before they had arrived. He couldn't stay at the manor, however, not yet, and instead went to a hotel in Northern Scotland to try and clear his mind and body.

It hadn't helped, not one bit. After two weeks, he'd gone back to the manor, only to find it being redone and it virtually looked utterly different. That fact alone made his anxieties lesson, but he knew why his mother had done such a thing. She wanted all things involved with that life purged.

His father had been taken to Azkaban at the end of the war, with the sentence of three years. This was done without much complaint, as the other death eaters had gotten more. He resented that his father had to go, but it had to be done. Too much had happened, too much damage, and they all had some sort repentance to do. His mother was put on house arrest, and he was as well until the new school year came around. He was restricted to Hogwarts grounds and was under super vision and scrutiny at all times.

With that, it was no surprise that he retreated into himself, with no one willing to give him a second chance, no one willing to talk to him without some sort of look of fear, contempt or of anything remotely kind. He didn't think he deserved kindness, not after all he had seen and done, but it might've been nice to just not be stared at constantly. He wanted to be ignored, he needed it. And soon enough, after people had found nothing in him that would keep their attention, they did just that. He was treated mostly as if not there, and no teachers even tried to call on him. He was invisible. And invisibility, after so many years of demanding to be in the spot light, was the greatest thing to happen to hm.

His perception and observance of people became stronger. He noticed things he never would have normally, like the way a person walks, or the way a person interacts with a friend versus someone they hold in contempt. He noticed how the sun rose on nights he couldn't sleep, the nightmares always closing in. He noticed how the moving staircase moved in a sort of pattern, like clockwork. He noticed how delicate laughter is, how intricate and different laughs could actually be.

But what he really noticed, or rather who, was Hermione Granger. And in those moments where he was staring at her, he found that he wasn't scrutinizing or looking for any kind of flaws, but rather admiring her, an act he had never thought possible until he caught himself watching her in the library. He had taken to going to the library after he had returned to the normality of Hogwarts, seeking refuge among the renewed stakes and finding the solitude in the ancient potions section. No one went to that section, for no one ever needed to look up any ancient potion, not unless a paper had been assigned.

It was the second week when she had happened upon him there, her hair seemingly flying about her head as she had tried to pin it up but ultimately failing. She was both shocked and slightly perturbed at finding him there, and when she found that he hadn't told her to leave or say anything mean, she quickly found the book she needed, giving him one last careful glance before moving back to wherever she had been sitting. It was from that moment that he began to look her way, and she at him.

She didn't necessarily crowd his thoughts, but her views certainly did. He had of course already begun reconsidering all that he'd been brought up on, all those crazy pureblood values, as it had been hard not too. With a war fought for nothing but power by a man who took advantage of the pureblood notions on Muggle-borns to breed an army of pureblood idiots and their families, Draco had long thought on the values he had been raised on.

And it wasn't hard to see that the superiority he felt was nothing but a folly. He was no better then the dirt on the ground for thinking he was any better than a muggle-born, Hermione Granger being the living testament of that. For years, she had beat all people in their years, even in the years before her, and she a muggle-born. He had concentrated so long on her 'dirty blood' that he had failed to see how truly brilliant she was. She was the master mind behind the golden-trio. She was no doubt the reason they had survived out on that run, and that alone would be reason enough of her brilliance, for he wouldn't have been able to last as long as they had, not even close.

But it wasn't only her brilliance that caught his attention of her once again, but her lack of contempt and fear. Instead of hatred, he saw questions and confusion, as well as contemplation. She was trying to make him out, as he was she, that was easy to guess. The lack of hatred is what tipped him off, he'd been a miserable sod to her of all people in her little group and he deserved her hate above all other people. She'd been tortured in his own home, her screams still reverberating against his skull at night when all other demons had seized. It was this lack of hatred that made him think more on her, because he had the inkling that she was just as tired as he was of feeling hatred and fear. What he wanted was to feel happy again, to smile easily without some overlying fear or hate coming into play. And he felt that she felt that too.

There wasn't a point to hate anyone anymore, in any case. The was no room for pure blood elitist ideology anymore, not with the changes that were happening. He'd been lucky to even be at Hogwarts, but the ministry wanted to integrate him and other children of convicted death eaters into society again, to learn and go through the changes. They wanted them to feel that there was no room for disgust of blood status, no room for dark magic, and no room for returning to old ways, not anymore. Nothing would be the same, nothing but curriculum in classes.

And if Draco was being completely honest, he didn't bode well in the few months after the war. He was at constant war within himself. If he wasn't think on his family's predicament, he was reevaluating all he'd ever been taught. And if he managed to think on other things, he would come to think on Quiditch, on how he would no longer be welcome on the team or any other team, for that matter, or he'd think about how lonely he actually was. Then, at night, he'd be thrown into the fires of his nightmares, reliving the horrors and fears he had felt and seen for the past four long year.

There had been no safety in sight, not for his mind or sanity. It wasn't until he watched that first sunrise on a sleepless night that he finally felt some sort of peace. He just concentrated on the colors that shined out and how the light moved slowly across the land, bathing it in waves of red and orange. He found then that nature was his salvation from the horrors of his mind. And books, books kept his mind off of many horrors as well.

So, that's why he was there, at the library, on Halloween night, reading a book on ancient herbology. To try and vacate the demons that so plagued his mind. No one was there, only the new librarian, who left him to his own devices, trusting him enough to know he wouldn't do anything alarming. He'd been there since morning, not wanting to be there while the other students celebrated the holiday. Call it cowardice or sentence, but he didn't want to see the happiness in the day, nor did he want to cause anyone's happiness to be ebbed by his presence. He only wanted seclusion, and to read something that would ease his mind, even if his mind were eased into boredom.

But on a day such as Halloween, where he too had a slight ache to join in the fun, just for one day, he knew that he'd not be truly welcomed any where, no matter what Blaise or Pansy had to say about it.

And it was to his great surprise that he saw Hermione Granger walking around the library, her hands grazing over book bindings as she passed them. She hadn't seen him yet, and he watched as she smiled softly as she read the titles of books, pulling out some to examine them further. He caught himself staring, and shook his head, trying to return his attention to how useful sunflower seeds were to making various healing potions. But he couldn't get himself back into the books and instead turned to the next book beside him, some historical tomb on how wizards were in the time of King Henry VII. Wasn't terribly interesting, but King Henry VII, his paranoia at being over taken as his predecessor, King Richard III, had been. But it wasn't only his paranoia, but he had a beloved queen by his side, one whose death caused the man great sorrow. He had love on his side, and Draco couldn't help but feel the want to have love on his own side as well.

It was then, that Hermione Granger chose to sit across from him, dumping down three books onto the table, smiling softly before taking her seat. It was a large table, one that sat three on each side, and Draco was startled by her clear claim of the seat, not caring a whit of who sat across from her. It was with this surprise that he continued to stare at her as she began to read one of the books, a book on astrology.

After what must have been fifteen minutes, did she finally look up and meet his stare, carefully leaving her face soft and carefree.

"Do you mind," she asked, without even a hint of malice.

"What," he replied, blinking slowly, knitting his eyebrows in confusion.

"Do you mind that I'm sitting here? Because you've been sitting there silently staring at me with great surprise for far too long," she said, raising her eyebrow in an almost playful motion. Shock was more what he felt, pure shock.

"No," he replied, and then busied himself with the rest of wizarding and non-wizarding history. They sat silently, nothing but the rustling of paper sounding between them. This went on for about an hour, and the light of day slipped from their area, and the only real light in the room was of their small table lamps. Even the librarian had left them to their own devices, the teachers probably having their own little gathering as did every house. It was with great reluctance that he asked his next question.

"Are you not spending Halloween with your house?"

She looked up, narrowing her eyes as she searched for the bite she had always thought came with his voice. When there was none, she looked down at her book again.

"I'm not up for festivities, not today," she replied, trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably. "And you? Where is your holiday spirit?"

"Long gone," he replied, running a hand over a smooth page that detailed the muggle tactics of warfare in the middle ages. It would seem that murdering people was not a wholly new thing, and he knew that his part in the war would most assuredly be put down in some history book. The thought made him feel uneasy. That there was no real form of redemption for him, not in the history books at least.

"Does it hurt," she asked finally, staring down at his arm. He visibly flinched at the question, unconsciously rubbing the sleeve that covered the mark that had ruined his life for good. He wanted to answer with a biting response, but he didn't have the energy or the malice for such a retort, not anymore.

"Not like I thought it would. I thought it would, when he died, but it didn't. It's slowly fading now, as is the pain," he said. He moved his eyes to her arm as well, remembering clearly her agonized screams upon getting her own customized mark. "Does yours?"

"Comes and goes," she whispered, almost to low for him to catch. She mirrored his unconscious grab for her arm, but unlike him, she left her scar out in the open for others to see. It was like personal torture for him, seeing and remembering what had happened when she had gotten it. He shuddered as she barred the scar to him, as if trying to keep the demons at bay. She quickly moved her hand back to cover it, a look of confusion on her face once more. "I have muggle medication that eases the pain."

He nodded, his stomach now rolling slightly as he screwed his eyes shut. He would not let the screams come, not then while she was there. He probably looked a mess, and he was even more shocked to feel her hand cover his, no doubt out of sympathy. It was calming, having her warm hand on his now burning arm. She kept it there, while he tried to get his breathing to lighten. He didn't flinch away from her; a feat he knew to be significant in his path to trying to become somewhat better. She probably noticed it too. Finally, after he'd opened his eyes once again, greeting her questioning eyes with calm pools of grey. With that, she let go, and went back to reading her book. No questions, no words, just a simple touch, and for that he was grateful.

They ended their sitting arrangement about two hours later, the librarian coming in to kick them out so that she could close the library for good before she returned to whatever gathering the other teachers were at. They parted ways, Hermione offering a smile and Draco returned it. It was the first exchange of smiles between them, and for Draco, he could only hope it wasn't the last. A hope so out of place that he felt odd having it. But change was happening, slowly but surely, and it was a much needed change, otherwise he'd be lonely for good.

"He's broken," Hermione muttered to herself as she made it back to her suite, virtually shaken by what had transpired between her and Draco Malfoy.

"Draco Malfoy," she repeated to herself, not truly believing what she'd seen.

She had come into the library fully expecting to have the whole library to herself, as it was Halloween and Hogwarts during Halloween was always filled with fun. But no, she found Draco Malfoy there, sitting reading the history of both muggle and wizarding history and she sat down, much to her own surprise.

She knew from watching him before that he took his fall from grace quite literally, sitting in the back of classrooms and allowing people to talk ill of him. All she could remember was the fear in his face as he walked across the battlefield to his parents, the look of pure fear and even a flash of hatred as he looked at his father. For family, he'd fought for family, and took a mark from a madman who punished anybody and everybody. He went across the battlefield fully knowing he'd failed the madman, and she had little doubt that he was walking across the field to face that same madman if Voldemort would win.

But now? Now he was there at Hogwarts, not even allowed to leave the grounds to go to Hogsmeade, and he was the scorn of many at the school. But she didn't have the emotional energy to feel hatred, not after all that had happened. She knew he wouldn't bother her, that no one would bother her, and she was free to do whatever she truly wanted. Being a war hero and all that gave her a little more power and credibility that allowed her peace.

She realized, that even with putting herself to work constantly, that she had been watching him as well, catching him staring at her, and she in turn staring at him. But never for long, as she'd always managed to force herself back into doing whatever she was doing, a skill that many admired. It's what kept her studies going for so long, of that she had no doubt.

But what caught her attention most about the library run-in, was that he had almost had a panic attack. And it was with great surprise that her barring her scar to him was what triggered it, not his own dark mark, but her cursed scar. She had reasoned with herself before, that Draco could've done nothing in spite of his aunt, not unless he too became victim to her retribution. And for that, she had forgiven him, as he had lied about recognizing Harry, no doubt saving them all from a most certain death.

It was with that conclusion, that she decided he deserved a second chance. They were still young, easily corrupted by the whims of their backgrounds and the people they surround themselves with. Because if Draco's father had been anybody but Lucius Malfoy, Hermione was sure Draco would have become a Death Eater. He believed too much on self and familial preservation for such a thing. He was loyal to those he loved, and loved them too a fault, but who could really fault him for doing what he did, if it were for family. He didn't kill anyone, didn't torture anyone out of free will. He had a conscious, one he didn't really want to show anyone for fear of showing weakness. But he was definitely on his way towards repentance, towards redemption, and for that, Hermione could give him another chance. She wouldn't be the one doing a lot of talking, though, not at all. But she would do something, it was second nature to help, and she felt he needed it, even if he didn't want it from her.

They made it a regularity to sit across from each other in the library, their various school books scattered across the surface. They didn't talk, not while the library was busy, and they were comfortable with the silence that settled over them. The second day, when everyone had seen them sitting together, it was off putting to say the least. Everyone openly stared at them, and even though Draco vehemently ignored them, and even her at first, he didn't move away from her.

She had no doubt that people thought she had gone nutters, and she even thought so as well, but she was determined, and nothing could stop her from sitting across from him, not even him. They did talk, if only to share a greeting or to talk over some assignment or another, and it soothed Hermione to know she wasn't doing any of this in vain.

Ron was the one who was angry with her sitting with Draco.

 _"_ _What are you thinking? He's Draco Malfoy! Prat who called you wicked names for years. Arsehole who let his aunt torture you right in front of his eyes. Death Eater Jr," he nearly shouted as they had been walking down a hallway. Thankfully, there hadn't been a soul in the hallway, to hear him, or hear Hermione retort._

 _"_ _Yes, and? He's changed, Ronald. He is trying to atone for what he's done. He hasn't called me any names, doesn't even look at me with any sign of hatred or disgust. And tell me, who would've stopped Bellatrix? She was a sadist, pure and simple, and she would've made Draco's life miserable if he'd done anything to stop her."_

 _"_ _I would've stopped her!"_

 _"_ _That may be so, but she wasn't your aunt, now was she?" She sighed, rubbing her forehead in exhaustion. "Look, the war is over. I'm not making excuses for him, but he deserves another chance. He didn't kill Dumbledore, he didn't give us up to Voldemort, and he most certainly wasn't the one trying to torture me. And for that, he deserves something, okay?"_

 _"_ _I don't like it, Hermione." Ron replied, moving forward to hug her._

 _"_ _I know, but trust me, okay? He's not going to hurt me; I try believe that."_

Her conversation with Harry had gone a little smoother.

 _"_ _Do you truly believe he's changed?"_

 _"_ _If I didn't do you think I'd have tried?" She replied, smiling softly._

 _"_ _Yes, but you'd have given up within a week if he was at all nasty to you." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Just be careful, yeah? You can't fix a broken man easily at all. Believe me, Ginny has been trying."_

 _"_ _And yet, I think she's doing a fine job," she whispered, chuckling as he rolled his eyes at her._

 _"_ _Yes, but I have a lot of friends and people who care about me. I think Draco Malfoy has very little friends and he'd got a short list of those he loves. I just want you to be careful, at least let the years of name calling leave you a little wary of him."_

 _"_ _I will, Harry. I just want to help."_

 _"_ _I know. You've always wanted to help anything seemingly broken."_

It was a Saturday in early January, the grounds covered in a fresh layer of snow yet to be trodden on, and Hermione was surprised to see Draco had switched spots from their usual table to one that was facing a large window. It was early, just after a quiet breakfast, people still preferring the warmth of their beds to that of the crisp air in the hallways. He hadn't a single book in front of him, nothing at all for him to do if they were to stay there for a few hours. It made Hermione both confused and a little disheartened, her mind instantly going to that of him leaving as soon as she came to sit.

But he didn't move as she set her bag done, didn't even look up to see that it was her that sat in front of him, because who else could it have been?

Instead, he stared out the window, his face set perfectly serene. It was the first time she'd seen him look so awake, so at peace. But, it didn't take long for a sorrowful look to pass his features, as if the same old dark cloud had come over him.

"I didn't have a nightmare last night," he supplied, finally looking up at her. She was certainly surprised by that statement, for she didn't think that he too would be ridden with the terrible misfortune of nightmares. But of course he would have had nightmares, Voldemort had been in his house for months and he had been a victim more than she or Ron had been.

"That's really good. Do they usually keep you up?"

He nodded, looking past her again to look out the window. "I dream about dying a lot. I had wished for the longest time that he'd just kill me and end it all, so I didn't have to watch anymore of what he did, but I knew it'd have killed my mother. I also dream about you."

"Me?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Your screams. The blood seeping from your arm and the tears that you'd shed. I couldn't move. I couldn't do a damned thing, for fear of retribution. I could never, ever to a damned thing. So many times, I had wanted to run away, to go to another country and hide in some church. But he would've found me, or sent someone to find me. I would've been dead before I even stepped out of the country, or my parents would've been dead.

Your screams, though, it had nearly broken me. I have dreams where I'm the one to take your place, the pain from the cursed blade, the cruciatus curse running waves of excruciating pain through my whole body. Other times I'm screaming for her to stop, for her to end your screams. And other times, I kill her myself, and then I'm the one screaming instead of you. But I always hear them, your screams."

He is still looking out the window as he says this, not blinking at all. The confession isn't what she expected, far from it actually. She has nightmares about that night too. It's always a reoccurrence, the pain seeping into her arm as it's seemingly recut. From those dreams, she wakes with her arm throbbing. Other times she's reliving the cruciatus curse, Bellatrix's voice echoing in her head. It's from these dreams she can't go back to sleep from. The pain of the blade she could pop a muggle pain killer and sleep soundly, but with that vicious voice, she can't bring herself to fall back to sleep.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, looking down at her hands.

"Don't." He replies, almost instantly and with such venom she forgot he had. He looks desperate now, his hand reaching across the table for hers. "Don't you dare apologize. It's not your fault. I should be apologizing. Me."

"Why?"

"Dammit, Hermione." He replied harshly, dropping his head down as he tried to steady his breath. It wasn't the first time he'd said her name, as they started calling each other by first names by the second week of greetings, but it was the way he said it. He said it with harshness yes, but with desperation. He wanted to make her understand him, she could see that, but why so suddenly she didn't quite know. Quickly, he dropped her hand and instead put both hands open in front of him.

"I've been meaning to apologize for weeks. Ever since Halloween night. I had been horrid to you, to everyone who I though inferior to me, but mostly to you. You bore the burnt of my selfishness, but not only that you and countless other muggle-borns bore the burnt of all that I had been a part of. And for that, I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry."

He looked utterly broken as he spoke. He wanted, no needed her to understand that he was sorry, that he needed her to forgive him. He bore a guilty conscience, one with a weight s heavy that he was carrying it with him everywhere. He was at his breaking point, and he needed t heal.

"I can't change fully. I'll never be able to stop being devious or being a self preservationist, but I'm trying."

"I know." she replied, trying to meet his gaze so that she could drive the nail home. "I know you're changed. I can't see the disgust anymore. You don't call me names or treat me as you once did. It may because you don't want to have the whole school fully against you, but we both know it's not." She stood up, and moved to sit beside him, taking his left hand into both of hers.

"But mostly, I can see that you've changed because you don't believe in any of those ideologies you'd been taught as a child. I see the guilt you hold so heavily on yourself that it makes me want to help even more."

"Why? Why are you helping me?"

"Because I want to."

She said it so decisively, that they sat in a new found silence. They stared at each other once again, and slowly, Draco moved forward, allowing Hermione time to move away. When she didn't, he did something neither thought real or possible six months prior. He kissed her, softly, scarcely allowing for a real kiss to occur, a mere peck.

"You should be running, screaming," he whispered, his eyes closed as he took in her smell, relishing the fading feel of her lips against his.

"So should you," she whispered back, bringing her hand up to trace his law line. "And I find running away never solves a damn thing."

"Hmm." He pulled away, not far but enough to look at her fully, taking most of her in. "I shouldn't have done that."

"And why ever not?" Hermione looked clearly affronted, her eyebrows scrunching together.

"It's not because I didn't want to. I have been crowded by you for two damn months, wanting you was bound to come up eventually," he said, a little too lightly for her liking. "I shouldn't have kissed you because it's too early."

"Too early?" She repeated, incredulously.

"Yes. You don't trust me."

"How did you come by that conclusion?"

"Well, you shouldn't trust me. If not because I'm a selfish sod, then because no one else does."

"Draco Malfoy, since when have I ever followed what everyone else does?"

"Maybe now you should."

"And maybe now I think you're scared. I've been sitting with you for two damn months. I've watched your struggles first hand. I don't want you to hide away again, not now when you've finally opened up."

"You shouldn't be trying to help me. I'm damaged goods. I'm the evil in the darkness."

"Evil in the darkness, my ass. I see no evil now, and haven't seen it for months."

"You don't know a damned thing about me, Hermione." He was harsh now, turning his head away as he clinched his jaw.

"But I do. I went to your trial, I went with you to school, I've seen your guilt and your struggle. You have nightmares about things you couldn't stop. You have put aside your petty prejudices and accepted me as I am. You have kept to yourself in an attempt to try and accommodate others feelings, even if trying to save yourself from scorn and ill treatment. You have opened up to me, let me in, and I find I don't want to be shut out."

She huffed as she ended her statement, making it clear she wasn't going anywhere.

"You don't mean that." He said, clearly shaken.

"Oh, but I do," she replied, looking him dead on to make her point.

"You're insane."

"Only a little bit," she paused, smiling softly. "I want to get to know you. This new you and the bits of old you. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes," he replied, closing his eyes as he tried to calm himself.

"Then believe it, anyways. I'm a hard one to shake, Malfoy. I'm determined," she said, wistfully. "How about a walk around the grounds, before the others students get up and ruin it."

"I'd like that."

Draco walked along side Hermione Granger still not believing what had actually happened. He had shared his deepest regret with her, along with his greatest secret. He'd waited and watched for two months to tell her that he was sorry, to share with her his tale on his nightmares.

He was crazy, he must be. Draco Malfoy a year ago would've laughed at the Draco now. He would've said 'you're fucking taking a piss.' And then probably would've sat down and worried about how it might just happen. He had been so desperate a year ago, that he would've thought hanging around Hermione Granger a picnic. But now, he'd been so lonely and he was used to her. He still found her a know it all, determined brat, but he was grateful for her companionship, no matter how he got it.

But what he found had been his tipping point, was her compassion and determination to help him and to see him in a better light. Of that he had no right to deserve. And with that compassion, he felt such an emotion strive through him that he just had to do something, so he kissed her, much to his own surprise. But it wasn't unpleasant, which he had always thought it would be. Her lips were just lips, soft and smooth as any other girl's lips would be. Nothing at all inferior, which just made him feel even guiltier for ever thinking it.

She bled red, just like him. She was soft and smooth, just like any other witch. She was great with doing magic, just like a natural born witch or wizard. She was the smartest witch of their age, and he was glad she gave him a chance. Because more than anything, he needed her company, even if he was reluctant to ever admit it.

He must be insane, he really must. This whole situation was insane. But a good insane, only good.

It was freezing, but the cold was somewhat comforting, it meant that he was till feeling, something anything. They walked in silence, not really willing to break the peaceful silence that they'd maintained since leaving the library.

If he was being honest, he didn't know why they had attached to each other. They had acted each other as young teens, he for her 'blood' and her always beating him in almost everything, but also she hated him for his whole personality, or what he had been. He'd like to think he wasn't as selfish or conceited, but he was still as bitter and angry as before, that probably would never change.

He knew she'd changed as well. Living on the run with Harry Potter and being the one who was targeted by so much hate because of her blood status would do that to a person, but also she suffered from pain and suffering as well. She'd lost friends, family, and the innocence that everyone had lost because of the war. It made him feel all the guiltier.

"I used to think that the war would never end. There were nights while on the run that I wanted nothing more than to give up, but it was never an option. To give up, was to die, and death, was a finality I wasn't ready for," Hermione said, finally breaking the silence. They approached a short wall and Hermione decided that it was a good place to sit.

"Everyday, it was a fear of death. I always thought that one day, he'd just take the ultimate punishment on my father and kill me or my mother," he shuddered, as if reliving the fear once again. "That day, when you came into the manor, and I lied about recognizing you, I'd wanted nothing more than to have Harry Potter kill the bastard. And when it happened, when he was actually killed, it was as if all my fears had been lifted and I felt I could be happy once again."

"Do you still feel that," she asked curiously, looking at him expectantly.

"Sometimes. But other times, it feels like I'm destined for silence and solitude," he replied, almost bitterly.

"I think it's possible. If we won the war, we can be happy again," she said, looking out again the cold breeze.

"Ever the optimist," he muttered, loud enough for her to hear, causing her to chuckle bitterly.

"Optimism is only part of it. I have to believe that it's possible. It has to be."

They were silent after that, and Draco knew that she needed to believe in a better future as much as he did.

They hadn't talked about that kiss, not once, but they did talk and share more things about one another. Like childhood stories and the previous animosity that had occurred between them. Hermione told him about her parents, and how she didn't know if she could find them again, but that she was going to try, once the school year was over. He told her about how he'd first gotten his mark, the fear and the hatred towards his father for allowing such a thing to happen. They'd been forced into adulthood too soon, the bitterness and the responsibilities given before any really knew what to do with them.

Draco came to admire Hermione, if not because she was a determined know-it-all, but because she cared about what he had to say, something he'd missed greatly. He also admired her for her bravery and care for others. He was selfish, he didn't care for many people, but for those he did care he cared viciously for. He also found that he did like her, a lot. He was comfortable with her, and even though they hadn't talked about that first kiss, he was still thinking about it.

The need to kiss her, to give something back other than words was strong as March passed. He wanted to take her and show her the pleasures he once knew, the care he could give threw actions and not words. He realized long ago that he was falling in love, much to his own chagrin, and at one point he just let himself. And it was time to try something, to make another move.

He felt that if she didn't at least like him, then she'd leave him be and wouldn't want to go on with whatever agreement they'd silently agreed to. So, one day he offered to meet with her in the astronomy tower, for a night to look at the stars. She had been surprised, of course, but she smiled and nodded.

"So, what brings this secret meeting?" She asked, as she came through the entrance, wearing her hair in a loose ponytail and in a light pair of blue jeans and t-shirt. Leave it to her to be plain and simple, he thought, almost chuckling before he caught himself.

"I needed to talk to you alone," he replied simply, motioning for her to sit on the blanket he'd laid out for them. She looked nervous, but she sat down anyways, trying to put on a brave front.

"Well, you've certainly got my attention."

"Indeed," he replied, trying his best to put forth a smile. "I just wanted to thank you."

"Thank you?"

"Yes, thank you. Because without your constancy these past few months, I don't think I'd have made the progress that I have been making."

"Oh," she replied, shocked. "What sort of progress is that?"

"The nightmares, they aren't as severe as they once were. The kindness and compassion you showed to a man who'd been more than broken by the war. And for being there, even when you had no obligation to," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. He was trying his best to come to terms with the words himself, as he'd never imagined himself saying these things to her, but he was saying these things and there was no going back.

"Draco… why are you telling me this," she asked, her voice catching, barely enough for him to catch it.

"Because I'm tired of skimming around it. Your companionship, no matter how long you sat with me a day, was the only thing I looked forward to for three months. Your kind face amongst hundreds of scornful ones. It's helped me more than you know. It gave me hope that one day, I won't be shunned for being something I had no intention of actually becoming." He shrugged, sadness shining right through. He reached for her hand, and took it, carefully turning it so her palm faced upwards. He traced it, trying to find some way of telling her what he wanted.

"You helped me too," she said quietly, her eyes watering. He looked up at her sharply, not allowing himself to believe what he'd heard. "You showed me that people do change, and that my prejudice for you was just as bad as yours was for me."

"I wouldn't count that as helping, you know." He replied, but he was smiling anyways, as if in relief. He pulled her closer, the blanket between them bunching up at the movement. He waited, allowing her time to move away, to get up and run if she wanted to, but she didn't. Instead, she moved closer, and made the first move. She kissed him, moving her hands to grasp his face and pulling him forward.

"I've been wanting to kiss you for so long," he whispered, chuckling softly.

"Then why didn't you?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then, I'm not stopping you now."

He moved forward them, pushing her onto her back as he pushed himself above her. His blood was rushing then, back to the need he sat awake at night feeling.

"I want more than kisses, Hermione." It was bold and brash, but she only nodded, smiling up at him, as if she'd been waiting for him to say that. He kissed her neck, trailing his lips across her collarbone. "I want to show you real pleasure, to have you withering below me, saying my name as I make you come."

"Then do it," she gasped, moving her hands to clasp his neck as she brought him up to kiss him long and full.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said again, breathlessly but with enough reassurance that Draco wasted no time after that.

He moved his hands over her with a firmness, like he wanted to memorize her every curve and crease, and he kissed and licked all the king he could get too. It didn't take long for them to divest their clothes, Draco putting a ward and silencing charm around them in case someone decided they wanted a late night look at the stars, which Draco highly doubted but precautions were never a bad thing.

Neither of them wanted this to be quick, they wanted it to last as long as possible without fear of getting caught. He kneaded and licked her breasts, moving from one to the next, giving each equal attention before moving his lips further down to her navel, his hands roaming lower, up and down her thigh to create some sort of friction. She let her hands roam his back, feeling the firm muscles in his back from years of quiditch.

They were not naturals, but they each had enough experience to not be completely awkward around the other. Draco knew what he was doing, or at least had the instinct to know he was doing and Hermione was just letting herself feel and be felt, trying not to think to hard about what they were about to do.

He, after several minutes of kissing her again, slipped his hand down between her legs, smiling as he felt how slick she was. She blushed, embarrassed but he wouldn't allow her to be embarrassed for too long. He moved down, pulling her underwear down her legs and tossing into the pile of clothes they'd collectively made. He pushed her legs apart, moving his mouth down the inside of her thigh before licking and sucking at her clit. He readied her, moving one, then two fingers, into her, watching her keen at the sensations.

"Draco, please," she gasped, grabbing him by the shoulders.

He moved faster, watching as her body began to flush with the build up of pleasure, watching as she finally came, her moans filling the larger room around them. He moved up on his hands to kiss her again, trying to prolong the inevitable. She grabbed him, causing him to gasp, and she moved her hands up and down his cock, the pleasure causing him to shake.

"Are you sure," he asked again, stopping her as he couldn't wait anymore.

"Yes, Draco, I'm sure."

He moved quickly, aligning himself and thrusting forward, a little harder than he intended, but still as good as he'd hoped, better even. They moved together, meeting thrust for thrust, Draco moving his hand down to her clit as he felt his orgasm near. She nearly screamed his name as she came around him, the waves of clenching causing him to come moments later.

He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily, but he was content not having a single regret.

"This changes everything," he said, looking over t her as she tried catch her own breath.

"I'd think it would," she replied, smiling as she moved to face him, bringing the large blanket around her.

"I don't regret it," he said, feeling he had to be honest.

"Neither do I. You're stuck with me now, Draco Malfoy, whether you like it or not."

He did like it, he liked it quite a bit.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys, I hope you like this new one shot! I should be studying but oh well. I've been planning it for a few days now and just cranked it out these past few days. I know Draco must seem a little OOC but hopefully my background details show why. I needed to write some damaged and romantic Draco... next time Hermione will be the main focus I should think. Please review! It'd mean a lot!


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